


Chains

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, M/M, R/NC-17 - Brown Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-29
Updated: 2008-07-29
Packaged: 2019-01-20 18:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12438849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Sam slips up when asked a simple question and Gene won't let it go.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

“What’s with the nancy boy necklace Tyler?” Gene’s tone was light, conversational, and Sam answered without thinking. 

 

 

“A boy… girlfriend gave it to me years ago, it’s meant to keep you safe when you travel.”

 

 

“Your what Tyler?” Gene was on his feet in an instant, circling the desk heading straight for Sam, an unreadable look in his eyes. Sam didn’t back away, knowing that could be a serious mistake, but he did shift his position slightly so the sharp edge of the filing cabinet wouldn’t dig in and bruise when he was inevitably flung against it. 

 

 

“I said, sir, that a girlfriend gave it to me.” Sam kept his voice low and even, staring Gene down, daring him to continue the line of questioning. 

 

 

“Yes Tyler, you did say that, eventually, but you were about to say something else.” Gene was standing right in front of him, crowding his space, trying to intimidate Sam with his size, completely unaware of how sexy he looked to Sam right then, looming over him like a bear. Sam sighed; he really wasn’t in the mood for a heart to heart about whether he liked it up the arse. 

 

 

“To be honest guv” he said, punctuating his words with a sharp jab of his finger into the older man’s chest, anger rising “I don’t think it’s any of your fucking business who gave me the damn necklace.” 

 

 

“Always knew you were a poof” Gene growled, but surprisingly backed away and sat at his desk, picking up his half-smoked cigarette and returning his attention to the file in front of him. Sam breathed a quiet sigh of relief, casting an oblique look at his DCI before heading to the door. He’d just made a tacit admission to the most homophobic man he’d ever met, and was quite surprised he wasn’t at least limping away, if not bruised and bleeding on the floor. Glancing one last time at Hunt, who appeared to be for once immersed in what he was reading, he decided to relish his good fortune and headed to the canteen, wondering briefly if the guv was scared to touch him in case he caught the gay.

 

 

 

\---------------

 

 

It was later, much later. So late in fact that Sam was finding it almost impossible to read the time on his antiquated wind-up watch, and there appeared to be at least three Gene Hunts sitting in front of him. He’d spent the evening at the Railway Arms trying to avoid his DCI. But some nights Gene was unshakeable, and tonight it seemed he was hell bent on getting Sam completely pissed, appearing with fresh pints and chasers as soon as Sam reached the dregs of his previous, with that look that dared Sam to refuse his rare generosity. Sam felt sure he was just being softened up for the kicking of his life later, but reflected there wasn’t much he could do about it since Gene had also stolen the keys to his flat to prevent him leaving. He glanced blearily around the pub. Everyone else had left so at least he wasn’t going to get a beating from the whole team, Nelson was busy clearing glasses on the opposite side of the room and Gene was sitting opposite him just staring and sipping slowly at his whisky. 

 

 

“So I was right then Tyler” Gene said suddenly. “you..” he paused raking his eyes across his DI “are a fairy”. 

 

 

“Whu?” Sam was startled to attention. He wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready for a conversation about his sexual preferences. He was far far too drunk. He sighed. “Can’t you just take me outside and beat me up?”

 

 

“Oh shut up Tyler.” Gene lit a cigarette and looked off into the middle distance “S’pose it makes sense. Always thought Maya was a funny name for a girl.” 

 

 

“What? No no, fuck” Sam lapsed into incoherency and banged his head against the rickety table in frustration “Maya was… will be… is a woman.” 

 

 

“And she gave it to you?” It dawned on Sam that Gene wasn’t drunk, far from in fact, his voice calm, low and measured, and he tried to suppress the fear that he might be in worse trouble than he thought. He could just about hold his own in a fight with Gene if they were both sober, but tonight he didn’t stand a chance. Gene suddenly slammed the flat of his hand against the table, jostling the empty glasses. Sam jumped a little at the noise. 

 

 

“I asked you a bloody question, Tyler.” Gene’s voice was still low, controlled, not betraying any hint of emotion “who bought you that necklace.” Sam looked up then. Gene had stood and was leaning over the table, with that look in his eyes that Sam had seen a hundred times before, but never directed at him. The look that meant the suspect it was directed at was about to get hurt. At that moment, with Gene staring down at him Sam understood exactly how effective such a tactic was, he wanted to blurt out every secret he knew just to put a stop to that murderous gaze. Sam tried to remain calm, a hard proposition when the guv was seemingly about to throttle him, but he was too drunk and too angry for much self control. He didn’t understand. Gene knew what he’d heard, so why was he trying to wheedle a confession out of him? Sam resolved that if that was what the guv wanted he would at least try and give the man a heart attack before he could be taken outside and beaten to a pulp. He took a deep breath, steadied his voice and spoke slowly and deliberately.

 

 

“His name was James. We were 18. He was the first guy I went with, and he was the best fuck I have ever had.” Sam steeled himself to be dragged to his feet, and completely failed to notice Gene collapsing in the chair opposite as though someone had swiped his legs from under him. 

 

 

“You what?” There was an edge to Gene’s voice that Sam couldn’t place. He swallowed hard and continued, refusing to make eye contact but lowering his voice to a gravely whisper

 

 

“Every time this medallion touches my neck, I can feel his cock so far up my arse I can barely breathe, his hand wanking me off as he fucked me into the mattress.” Sam sat back, his fingers deliberately going to the St Christopher at his neck, gently stroking the smooth metal and the skin beneath. His eyes unconsciously fluttered closed, and for a moment he forgot about his imminent death as he almost felt James’s breath on the back of his neck, suddenly remembered the salty bitter taste of James’s cum, heavy on his tongue, and almost moaned as his cock twitched in drunken horniness, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. The pain brought him hurtling back to “reality” and his eyes snapped open as he realised that Gene hadn’t said or more confusingly done anything…yet. 

 

 

In the next second with that swift and silent grace that always unnerved Sam, Gene was on his feet, hands gripping the back of Sam’s collar and hauling him upright. Sam didn’t protest; just let himself be dragged out of the back door, waving a cheery salute to Nelson as the doors shut in his face. Gene slammed him quickly and efficiently against the nearest available surface, and Sam winced as his head cracked resoundingly against the brick. He closed his eyes in resignation as Gene pushed him harder against the wall, using his weight as leverage, and as he pinned Sam seemingly effortlessly Gene’s body was pressed fully against him. It was then that Sam felt the insistent and unmistakable pressure of an erection throbbing against his thigh, and his mouth went suddenly dry. 

 

 

Acting on instinct and using every ounce of strength he possessed he shoved Gene away. He went fairly easily, and they stood toe to toe, breath misting in the cold air, Gene’s dark eyes fixed on Sam and still wearing that inscrutable glare that could be lust but could just as likely be good old fashioned rage. At this point Sam felt he had nothing left to lose either way. Locking his eyes with Gene’s, Sam brought his finger to his mouth, gently wiping the blood from his lips before brushing the tip with a moist tongue. He saw Gene’s eyes flicker away and down to focus on his mouth as Sam drew the tip of his finger past his teeth, giving it a slow and thorough suck before removing it with an enticing smile. Sam leant his head back against the wall thinking this would be the moment he was either kissed or killed but Gene didn’t move, didn’t speak, barely even breathed, just stared unblinking at Sam. And then Sam realised that Gene was scared, really properly scared, and had absolutely no idea how to react to what Sam had just done.

 

 

Sam suddenly felt way out of his depth, the realisation of what this all meant hitting him like a blow to the gut. His stomach clenched and he barely had time to twist away before he was vomiting all over his boots.

 

 

“Oi, mind the coat you fucking nancy” Gene shouted jumping away leaving Sam leaning against the wall retching and spitting. Sam stared at his feet and tried not to fall over into the puddle of sick in front of him, dizzy and confused, too drunk to know how to handle this. Eventually a voice broke through his thoughts 

 

 

“Can you walk yet Gladys?” Sam looked up, startled to see Gene still there, leaning casually against the opposite wall, the ever present cigarette hanging from his lips, almost as though the last half an hour hadn’t happened. Sam was more than a little grateful that his DCI hadn’t just left him in the alley and driven home. 

 

 

“Come on then Sammy boy let’s get you home.” Gene pushed himself off the wall as Sam stumbled unsteadily towards the Cortina, before he felt a hand on his shoulder pushing him, not too gently, away. 

 

 

“You think I’d let you in that beauty covered in your own puke Tyler? We’re walking; now get your arse in gear. It’s bloody freezing.” 

 

 

“It’s only on my boots” Sam muttered petulantly, trying to keep up as Gene stalked off, but his coordination wasn’t up to much and conflicting thoughts were crowding his consciousness. He slipped with a heavy crash off the pavement, his ankle twisting painfully under him as he lost the fight with gravity and went down, crying out as his arse hit tarmac. He saw Gene stop under the next street light and turn to look at him, flailing in the gutter, before idly strolling back, hands deep in the pockets of his heavy coat. Sam tried, unsuccessfully to get up by himself, but he seemed to have too many arms and not enough legs, or the other way round. Something wasn’t working anyway, and he sat heavily back down on the road with a disgruntled sigh. 

 

 

“Little help here?” Asked Sam, trying, and failing, to not sound completely pathetic. With an exaggerated huff of displeasure, Gene stepped up, ignored the hand proffered by Sam, and hauled him bodily and painfully to his feet by the collar of his leather jacket. As soon as he was vertical Sam swayed again, the whole world spinning and lurching. He felt Gene’s big hand gripping at the back of his neck holding him up, his warm bulk beside him and suddenly felt inexplicably safe (at least from falling over again). Breaking into a contented lopsided grin he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, occasionally stumbling into Gene as they made slow and unsteady progress back to the flat. Gene didn’t let him go until they were through the door and then he dropped him unceremoniously onto the cot. Sam immediately lay down, remembering to kick off his sick-covered boots, but the room was still whirling and he closed his eyes with a groan. 

 

 

“Here.” He opened one eye cautiously to see Gene standing over him holding out an unwashed glass of murky water. Sam took it gratefully and drank it down in two swift gulps. 

 

 

“Now get some sleep you bloody light weight, and you better not be late for work in the morning.” Sam tried to make some caustic comment about how it was Gene’s fault he was this drunk, but before he could get his brain and mind to work together, the front door slammed and Gene was gone. Depositing the empty glass on the bedside table, he lay back down and tried to sleep. 

 

 

 

\-----------------------------------

 

 

Twenty minutes later, he was pissed off that he wasn’t drunk enough to just pass out. His stomach lurched again and he ran to the bathroom and threw up, staying on the cold bathroom floor and hugging the toilet until he was sure it wasn’t going to happen again. Making his way unsteadily to the kitchen and getting a glass of water, the walk back to the bed seemed too far so he slid to the floor with his back against the cabinets, sipping slowly at the tepid cloudy liquid. 

 

 

His annoyingly overactive mind kept going over and over and over the day’s events, but by 3 AM he was no nearer to any kind of meaningful or rational conclusion, as he just couldn’t decide whether to forget it ever happened, or corner Gene and force him to talk things out. Mercifully his eyes were beginning to droop, so he shuffled back over to his crappy bed, discarded his clothes, lay down and prayed for sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam glanced at his watch as he made his way gingerly up the steps to the station. By some small miracle he was only half an hour late, but his head was pounding and his tongue felt too big in his fuzzy mouth. The thought of walking into the noisy, smoke-filled, fetid CID office made his stomach churn, and he rested at the top of the steps, one hand on the reassuringly tangible concrete, battling with his nausea. After a few deep breaths and stern inner words of encouragement, Sam raised his head and strode into the station, greeting Phyllis briefly and bounding up the stairs past the desk, slowing when he was out of sight as his stomach heaved alarmingly at the sudden boisterous movement. Taking the remaining flights at a sedate walk, he tried to ignore the funereal music echoing in his head, reminding him of his clearly uncertain future, both as a member of CID and as a living breathing human. 

 

 

He stopped outside the doors to the office, listening intently. The sounds of inexpertly pounded typewriters drifted through, and he swallowed hard. No banter, no laughter, no chat meant only one thing, Hunt was on the war path and Sam could well imagine who was next in the firing line. Slowly and quietly he pushed the doors open, skulking through the gap, seeing five pairs of eyes whip up and glare accusingly at him as he entered the space. One step, two steps…

 

 

“TYLER!” Sam flinched as the strangled growl filled the room. He should’ve known really, somehow Gene always knew who had entered his domain even with his office door firmly shut and the blinds drawn. He slowly made his way towards the inner sanctum, shoulders slumped in resignation, and praying that the Guv didn’t punch him in the stomach, as he assumed that vomiting all over him probably wouldn’t help his cause. Gene obviously got tired of waiting for Sam and came barrelling out the door, his face a red mask of fury. 

 

 

“Where the bloody ‘ell do you think you’ve been Nancy?” He spat, advancing on Sam “It’s half bloody nine, and we should be out there getting scum off the streets, not waiting in ‘ere for Sam sodding Tyler to grace us with his presence.” 

 

 

“Sorry Guv, won’t happen again.” Gene was stopped in his tracks by the swift acquiescence of his DI, narrowing his eyes at Sam suspiciously, deflating as the fight was forcibly removed from him by Sam’s immediate, and seemingly sincere apology. 

 

 

“Yeah, well make sure it doesn’t.” The threat sounded half-arsed and Gene tried not to grimace, instead turning his attention to his team, watching and waiting.

 

 

“Right listen up you lot. I’ve had a tip from one of my snouts that Ian McIntosh has dared show his face back in my fair city, even after the kicking I gave him last time. Not only that it seems he’s planning a bit of a blag whilst he’s ‘ere - the jewellers on Droylsden Road. I intend to make him see the error of his ways by nicking the bastard red-handed. Tyler, get into the den and dig out known associates and accomplices of Mr McIntosh. Cartwright and Skelton get to the jewellers – find out if they’ve got anything valuable coming in and when. Ray, with me.” Pausing only to grind his cigarette to smithereens in the ashtray and swing on the infamous coat, Ray and Gene exited swiftly. 

 

 

Sam had to smile. Gene had obviously given him the grunt work as some sort of punishment, but feeling as rough as he did he was glad to be spared the hurtling death-trap of the Cortina under Gene’s control, so he made his way to the collators den with almost a spring in his step. 

 

 

Two hours later, covered in dust and grime, shirt sticking to his back with sweat, Sam hadn’t managed to find anything remotely connected with Ian McIntosh and was less than cheerful. Sighing heavily, and looking in despair at the haphazard piles of boxes ranged around him, he sat on the floor to ease the ache in his back. The room was warm and stuffy, and Sam felt his eyelids drooping as he leaned against the metal shelves. 

 

 

\-----------------------------------

 

 

“Sir! Sir! Sam!” Sam awoke to find Annie standing over him, a concerned look on her face, cup of coffee in her hand. Sam smiled up at her as she handed him the coffee, and he patted the floor next to him in an invitation to sit down. Gracefully she slid down, managing to keep her skirt from inching upwards into impropriety, a skill that Sam marvelled at. 

 

 

“Are you alright sir?” Annie’s brow was furrowed with worry, looking across at Sam. He gave her what he hoped was a dazzling smile

 

 

“I’m fine Annie; just a bit hungover is all. Thanks for waking me before the Guv found me.”

 

 

“He seems in a right two and eight over you today Sam. What did you do to annoy him this time?” Sam thought quickly and came up with a plausible half truth.

 

 

“Oh he was helping me home last night and I almost puked on his coat.” Annie nodded sagely, and Sam breathed an inward sigh of relief. 

 

 

“You should know better Sam!” she admonished gently “but at least you didn’t heave up in the Cortina eh? We’d be fishing your body out the canal if you’d done that!” Annie’s eyes twinkled with barely concealed amusement and Sam couldn’t help but grin back at her. 

 

 

The momentary ease soon passed and Sam stood up to stretch out his tired limbs, listening to his joints pop and crack. Sam held his hand out to Annie to help her to her feet, which she ignored, getting up just as gracefully and dusting herself off. Sam felt a slight pang of regret as he watched her, and wondered yet again just what twisted part of his psyche had imagined this perfect girl, the physical embodiment of everything he’d ever wanted, her eyes and mouth and laugh invading his thoughts in the grey world of 2006 with so much colour and life he had had to go back if only to capture those gorgeous rosebud lips. And then when he finally kissed her, drew her warm supple body against his, mouths pressed together, feeling everything he thought he knew drain away as she became a shell in his arms, and he felt as passionless as if he was kissing his sister. He smiled weakly at Annie, knowing he could never explain what had happened between them, not really understanding himself but acutely aware that he felt horribly guilty and had left a permanent rift in their friendship that would never be repaired. 

 

 

“Thanks again Annie. I’d better get back to work if I’m gonna find something before the Guv gets back.”

 

 

“I’ve finished with Chris; do you want me to help?” Sam nodded gratefully and they set to work in silence in the warm stuffy space. 

 

 

\---------------------------------

 

 

By four o’clock the two of them were even dirtier, sweatier and more pissed off, but still hadn’t found anything remotely helpful. Sam slammed his hands against the metal shelving in frustration, the unit rocking precariously, threatening to dump boxes of files onto his head. 

 

 

“This is getting us nowhere! How are we supposed to find anything in this bloody place? It’s ridiculous!” 

 

 

“Well Dorothy, since you seem to have such a hard-on for filing, I think you just volunteered to sort this shithole out.” Sam started; he hadn’t heard Gene come in. He was standing, back against the door, hands thrust deep into the pockets of the camel hair coat, cigarette dangling from his lips, that look of malicious amusement painted clear on his features. Gene gestured at Annie; 

 

 

“Come on flash knickers let’s leave the picky pain to his housework, time for you to buy me a beer!” With a sympathetic shrug to Sam, Annie picked her way through the piles of boxes, squeezing daintily past Gene and out the door. Gene took the time to smirk triumphantly at Sam before he followed her out. Sam resisted the urge to vent his frustrations on the mess surrounding him, and half-heartedly returned to the nearest box.

 

 

He searched fruitlessly for another hour before giving up for the day, and struck by a sudden burst of inspiration, made a swift detour to the evidence room, refusing to feel guilty about swiping a small block of hash they’d taken off a hippy a couple of weeks previously before heading back to the flat. 

 

 

\------------------------------

 

 

 

Kicking off his boots and unbuttoning his shirt, Sam flopped bonelessly into his overstuffed armchair, lighting the expertly made joint resting between his lips and inhaling deeply, feeling the wave of relaxation sweep through his body, and sighing out ribbons of grey-blue smoke. Feeling calmer and more centred than he had for weeks he leant his head back, and let his mind drift to the unique problem of Gene Hunt.

 

 

If he was honest with himself he was feeling more than a little hurt by the way Gene had treated him today. He’d been number one with the Guv for so long now; it stung when he was overlooked, when someone else was favoured over him. Sam knew it was jealousy, a desire to have the Guv all to himself, and felt a sudden pang of fear that he might have messed things up between them for good. Then he remembered that this was actually not his fault at all. Gene had got him deliberately drunk and insensible, Gene had pushed and pushed him into a confession, and yes ok perhaps he hadn’t been all that tactful about it, but Gene had wanted to know. His stomach curled in dismay as he recalled his ridiculous attempt at drunken seduction in the alley behind the pub, the look of fear etched deeply onto Gene’s face rising up before him like some spectre, and Sam thought he understood why Gene had been avoiding him all day. Didn’t get him any closer to working out how to fix things though. 

 

 

A familiar pounding at the door startled him out of his slightly stoned haze, and he was halfway to the door before he remembered the hash on the kitchen table. He stalled, dithering between answering the door and hiding the hash before realizing that if Gene already thought he was a bum bandit, him thinking Sam was a druggie too wasn’t going to make much difference. Trying to steady his breathing, but not wanting to take too long for fear of Gene getting impatient and using his foot to gain entry, he stood one hand on the door handle, still at a loss of what to say. Taking a deep breath he opened the door wide, stepping back smartly as Gene strode in, chucking his coat and tie on the bed and heading straight for the kitchen cupboard where Sam kept the scotch, quirking an eyebrow as he saw the papers, cigarettes and hash on the table, but saying nothing.

 

 

Keeping silent, Sam returned to the armchair, watching as Gene swigged copiously from the bottle of scotch, casually stole a cigarette from the pack on the table, and sat heavily on one of the kitchen chairs, his gaze levelled at Sam. 

 

 

“What you did last night, yer little performance, was unacceptable, Tyler.” Gene’s voice was as devoid of emotion as Sam had ever heard and he flinched in response, opening his mouth to speak. Gene stopped him with a warning glare

 

 

“And not ‘cause I’m some backwards poof-hating git who doesn’t, whatcha call it? Understand a valid lifestyle choice, or whatever shite it is you spill...” Gene lapsed into silence, studying the end of his cigarette. Sam waited, not daring to say a word. Letting out a long breath, Gene continued

 

 

“My life was a lot simpler before I met you. Black and white, good and bad. I knew where I was, and who I was. You changed all that, turned my bloody world upside down and didn’t even realise you were doin’ it I bet. And you pushed and you niggled and you made me wanna fight for your respect. Be a better copper. A better man.” Gene looked Sam full in the face for the first time, seeming to search for something that Sam couldn’t quite name before his eyes fled from the confrontation and fixed on Sam’s feet. Gene sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging, and he took a long drag of his cigarette. There was a pause that could have been seconds but seemed to stretch out for ever before Sam’s focus was brought back to the moment as Gene sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.

 

 

“How can you be the best and worst thing that’s ever ‘appened to me?” he asked, eyes raking Sam’s face again in search of answers, looking almost desperate. “You may not be afraid of me, but I’m scared shitless of you Sam Tyler. Nothing about you, nothing about this, nothing about us, makes sense.” 

 

 

Gene hurriedly rose, swigging another healthy belt of scotch and making to leave. Sam sprang to his feet, grabbing Gene’s arm and tugging on it until Gene reluctantly turned to face him. 

 

 

“Wait!” Sam floundered as Gene just stood there waiting for him to speak, and he knew that this would be his only chance to change his mind.

 

 

“Look. I…I know this is hard for you, I understand that, but you can’t deny there’s something between us, and pretending it’s not there isn’t going to help and it’s not going to change it. Don’t you want to take a chance at happiness Gene?”

 

 

“Listen!” Gene ripped his arm away from Sam’s grasp and pushed him back against the wall. “This is my city, these are my streets and I protect them, that’s all I know how to do and all I want to do. And just because you come swanning into my life, turning my head with your disturbingly tempting arse, does not change the fact that I am the sheriff of this town, and that comes first, that’s all that matters.” 

 

 

“No.”

 

 

“It wasn’t a question Tyler.” Gene’s voice was low with barely controlled menace

 

 

“I don’t care. No.” Sam ran his hands over his face, trying to marshal his thoughts into some kind of coherency 

 

 

“I’m not letting you run away Gene. You have no idea of the sacrifices I made to get back here. I am here to live my life, and I’m not going to let your cowardice or self-righteousness get in the way of that.” Stepping away from the wall he walked straight up to Gene, getting in his space like the Guv did to him all the time. Gently he placed his fingers on Gene’s chin and tilted his head downwards so he was looking Sam in the face. Gene’s eyes were darting everywhere, refusing to lock onto Sam’s. Tenderly he trailed a finger across Gene’s cheek, watching the battle between lust and fear going on across his scarred features. 

 

 

“This is right” he whispered, leaning in and claiming Gene’s lips in a closed mouth chaste kiss. Gene immediately lashed out, landing a swift and heavy punch in Sam’s abdomen, forcing the air from his lungs. Sam crashed heavily to the floor, winded and wheezing for breath, and saw Gene step back. Reflexively he grabbed onto Gene’s ankle, toppling his balance, bringing him down to the floor. Unfortunately Gene wasn’t winded, and he scrambled over and grabbed Sam’s wrists, pinning them above his head and leaning his full weight down, trying to subdue the smaller man. Sam kicked out; foot connecting with Gene’s ribs, feeling the vice-like grip on his wrists loosen, as Gene rocked backwards from the force of the jab. Sam wriggled free and launched himself at Gene, landing a series of lightening fast precise punches to his chest, stomach and face, pummelling him backwards into the carpet, Gene’s head hitting the hard surface with an audible thud.

 

 

Sam quickly straddled Gene, skinny fingers pincer tight, around Gene’s wrists holding them against the floor at his sides. He looked down at Gene, eyes skittering around refusing to look at Sam, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his split lip oozing a thin trail of blood across his cheek that Sam almost ached to lick. He could feel Gene’s erection through his trousers, straining up at him and he deliberately bumped his hips forward, nudging his own cock against the insistent pressure, watching as Gene bit down onto his bottom lip at the feeling, the split widening. Gene’s body was completely still yet alive with tension, every muscle stiff and contracted.

 

 

“Tell me you don’t want this Gene.” Sam whispered, hips grinding lazy circles against Gene’s crotch. “Tell me you don’t want to feel me…taste me…have me.” Gene looked up at him then, eyes raking desperately across his face and at that moment Sam could see nothing but naked desire in his gaze. The vision sent a lightening bolt of lust straight to his groin and his back arched uncontrollably, loosening his grip on Gene’s wrists. Gene reacted quickly to Sam’s lapse in concentration, escaping his grasp and sitting up in one swift movement, latching a hand onto Sam’s throat and slamming him backwards to the floor. Sam’s head bounced sickeningly hard against the threadbare carpet and his vision went black.


End file.
